Carry Me Home Tonight
by the-captains-ayebrows
Summary: A Grad School Modern AU. How many times will grad student Killian Jones have to meet Emma Swan before he remembers her?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is an idea that I just couldn't get out of my head, so I finally wrote it. This is unbeta-ed, so all mistakes are mine. I'm planning on there being three more parts to this series.**

 **This work is T rated for curse words and LOTS of alcohol consumption. Some references to smut occurring off-camera, but no actual smut.**

* * *

 _This is s'posed to be a party, right? So why's no one dancing?_ Not that Killian is much of a dancer himself, but it seems like a bloody waste of perfectly good music and a dimly lit room. Maybe it's just the copious amounts of rum buzzing through his veins, giving him ideas. Or maybe it's the way Milah subtly and sensually moves her shoulders and hips to the beat as she leans over the laptop serving as DJ to adjust the playlist.

Milah is off-limits, she's married for fuck's sake - not that that had been a problem those two or three (or four) times she'd pulled him into a dark corner of the library to pin him breathlessly against the stacks. She's older than him, a quote-unquote non-traditional grad student, which basically means that you've had a bit of a life before burrowing back into academia. She's also brilliant and passionate and beautiful, and Killian had fancied himself in love with her until one day - right before finals, mind you - she'd cut him off. She'd told him it had all just been a fling for the semester and she was going back to her husband.

She'd made her decision, and Killian respects that. But, the semester is finished, exams are done, and everyone is here to celebrate, so what could it possibly hurt just to ask her to dance? How much trouble could they get into with thirty-odd of their friends and classmates around to supervise? _S'fine. Just a dance._

He takes one last swig of his rum and Coke, and attempts to set the red plastic cup on some surface that he vaguely thinks is a table. He misses, and the cup hits the floor with soft _thunk_ , but who cares, really? _Was empty anyway._

He saunters over to Milah, turning her toward him with a hand on her hip. She raises her eyebrows at him, seeming amused for some reason, and he gives her what he believes to be his most tempting smile. "Wanna dance, beautiful?"

Her expression turns from amusement to mild annoyance, and she leans toward him to whisper, "Killian, we're in public. Besides, we decided that-"

"You decided," he corrects with a fleeting scowl that turns rapidly back into a smirk. "But I'm just asking for a dance, darling." He runs a knuckle down her bare arm, and she closes her eyes briefly, sighing at the contact. "This is s'posed to be end of exam revelry, innit? Let's _revel_ ," he wheedles, flicking his tongue suggestively on the final 'L'.

Milah shakes her head. "Why don't I go get Smee to give you a ride home? Looks like you've reveled enough for the evening."

Killian rolls his eyes in exasperation, then leans his face closer to hers, flicking his gaze down to her lips and back up. "You're no bloody fun, love."

Milah steps back and crosses her arms, scanning the room. Apparently finding what she'd been looking for, she cuts her eyes back to Killian. "Well, if you're so dead set on dancing, why don't you go ask Emma over there? She looks like she could use a friend."

Killian furrows his brow, turning to look where Milah is indicating. "Emma? Who's Emma?" Squinting through the fog of rum clouding his vision, he sees a glow of blonde hair and long, fair legs barely covered by the tiniest hint of a skirt. _Hmm… Maybe this night isn't a complete loss after all._

It takes him a few more seconds of gazing across the room at Emma before he realizes Milah is still talking to him. "…transferred in this semester, and doesn't know many people yet. You should go talk to her."

"Aye. Maybe I will." Without looking back at Milah, he runs a hand through his dark hair to make sure it's artfully rumpled, and swaggers over toward Emma. Well, he hopes it still counts as a swagger if you stumble a bit, but some bloody idiot left a damn cup on the floor.

When he reaches her, she's chatting brightly to a dark-haired lass with a pixie cut. "Killian…" The brunette looks him up and down and raises her delicate, if judgmental eyebrows. "You look-"

"Devilishly handsome?" he cuts in with a wink. "Why thank you, Mary Margaret."

Mary Margaret presses her lips together and shrugs. "I was going to say 'three sheets to the wind.' But, sure. That other thing, too." She turns, uncurling one finger from long-neck bottle in her hand to indicate the blonde next to her. "Have you met Emma Swan?"

Killian grins roguishly and takes a moment to get a better look at the woman before him. Up close, her golden hair glints like a candle's flame in the dim living room, her fair skin glows like the moon, but her eyes… He's never seen the like. Green as emeralds and just as sparkling. _Wait. Is that sparkling with laughter? What's funny?_

He hears Mary Margaret snicker beside him. _Oh, bollocks. I've been standing here staring at her like a mouth-breathing idiot. Shite. S'alright. I've got this._ He clears his throat, his tongue darting to the corner of his mouth. "Beg your pardon, Swan, but your beauty left me momentarily speechless."

She - _Emma_ \- smiles at him, and he manages to recover his trademark smirk. _Suave. Nice recovery._ "But where're my manners? We haven't been formally introduced. Killian Jones." He extends his hand to her, and when she takes it, he raises her hand to brush his lips across her knuckles. He lowers their hands, but keeps them joined. Unable to take his eyes off of hers, he asks, "Now, would you care to dance?"

An adorable flush creeps across her cheeks along with a bemused expression. Her lips part, and Killian watches mesmerized while she licks her lower lip as she considers his offer. Finally, she nods with a small upturn of the corners of her mouth, and Killian releases the breath he didn't realize he was holding. "Sure," she replies. "Why not?"

Still holding her hand in his, he walks her to the small open space serving as a dance floor and they join the handful of other couples that are now jostling and gyrating to the pulse of the music. She moves stiffly at first - hesitantly, he thinks - as if she's afraid to really let herself go. But as the music slows, he takes her by the waist and pulls her closer. She melts against him, her arms loosely draped around his neck, and together they sway, lost in the moment, in the alcohol and in each other.

As the song ends, there is a sharp slap on Killian's back and a rough hand is at his elbow pulling him away. He's disoriented for a second, and moves in the direction the hand is pulling him, finally putting it together with the deep, slurred voice he hears next to him bellowing, "Come on, man! Let's go do the beer bong!" _Bloody Dave_. Killian grumbles to himself. _Why am I mates with such a bloody cockblocker?_

Nonetheless, Killian follows, consoling himself with the idea that Mary Margaret will have Dave's arse tomorrow for getting shite-faced again. But for now… _What the hell? This is s'posed to be a party, right?_

The next morning, Killian awakes to pounding in his head and pounding on his door. _Bloody buggering… ugh._ He was having such a good dream, too. He can't remember it clearly, but if he closes his eyes, he can still see flashes of golden hair and glittering green eyes. Closing his eyes again is exactly what he wants to do, but that damn pounding on his door doesn't seem to be stopping.

He stumbles through the living room, realizing along the way that he's apparently slept in last night's clothes. The vast majority of the party is a complete blur to him. He remembers seeing Milah when he first got there, and then immediately becoming intimately acquainted with the majority of a bottle of Captain Morgan. He's got to stop drinking so much, he knows. It's not going to make Milah come back, and - as evidenced by this morning's raging headache - it sure as shite isn't making him feel any better.

 _But…_ he thinks for a moment, _something else did._ In this morning's glaring light, he realizes _something_ has made the sting of Milah's rejection fade. He can't remember what happened, but he can feel an easing in his soul, a renewed a spark of hope inside him. He just wishes he knew what it was. He blames the rum.

He opens the door to find Dave standing there, holding a greasy take-out bag. Mary Margaret is apparently on the warpath about his drinking last night, and he wants to lay low at Killian's place for a while. Killian grunts his assent, snatching the bag from David's hand as he enters the apartment. The peace-offering of Granny's breakfast burritos was good form on his mate's part, but for some reason, he can't shake a feeling of resentment towards David. He's not sure why.

Dave grabs Killian's remote and clicks on ESPN, as the two slump down on the couch to eat and mindlessly channel surf. Killian lets his mind wander. He wishes for all the world he could remember what had happened at the party. He'd ask Dave, but his mate had been just as hammered as Killian. Whatever it was, he finally feels like he can let go of his first love - of Milah. So, he supposes he's grateful. But, still… he's never drinking that much rum ever again.

* * *

 **So what do you think? Will Killian remember Emma when he sees her again? Will she remember him? Will he ever learn to lay off the rum?**

 **I love to hear your comments!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: And we're back! I've gotten a lot more response to this thing than I was expecting, which is awesome because this story is strangely near and dear to me. This is unbeta-ed so all mistakes are mine.**

 **When we left off, Killian couldn't remember dancing with Emma. What will happen when they meet for the second time?**

 **I'd love to hear what you think of this and what you think will/should happen next! Let me hear from you in the comments!**

* * *

 _Shoulda bloody seen it coming._ Killian had known it was a terrible idea to get involved with someone so soon after Milah, but ever since the after-finals party at Robin's house, he'd felt so much _lighter_. When he met Tink a week later, her curly blonde hair and green eyes had called to him like a memory from a dream. _Shoulda known a lass who nicknames herself after a bleeding FAIRY, for fuck's sake, would be a bit...flighty._ Nevertheless, despite his better judgment he'd dived right back into a relationship.

Well... 'relationship' might be putting it strongly. It had been a tumultuous couple of months, certainly not lacking in passion. They'd argued and made up with equal fervency ( _and against nearly every surface in my flat_ , he recalls with a smirk), but he'd never truly felt they were together. Never even began to entertain the notion that they were in love. What he'd had with Tink was not a relationship. It was more like a struck match - igniting quickly in a scorching blaze, then snuffing out just as suddenly when the wind changed.

Aye, he should've seen it coming. All she'd really ever wanted him for really was to fuck or to fight, but that didn't make it hurt any less when yesterday she'd simply vanished. _Poof!_ Like magic. He'd come home from his shite summer job waiting tables at Granny's Diner to find all traces of her removed from his apartment. The only indication she'd ever been there was a couple of strands of blonde hair stuck to a couch cushion and her copy of his key left under the doormat taped to a note that read, " _Don't call me_."

So, here he sits on a Wednesday night at The Rabbit Hole seeking out the comfort of an old friend. He rolls the shot glass between his fingers before downing the contents.

"Oh Captain, my Captain," he mumbles raising the empty glass in salute to the pirate on the bottle's label. He sets the glass back down again, and motions for the bartender to pour another.

Tomorrow is Immunity Day, a day when the poor unfortunate souls taking summer classes can buy their way out of homework assignments and being questioned by professors for the cost of a small donation to whatever charity the University sponsors this semester. Tonight is the exuberant drunken bender preceding said day of grace. _But bloody hell, did it have to be a karaoke night?_

Killian isn't doing any coursework this summer, but he has the night off from the diner, so he'd begrudgingly let Dave and Robin drag him here. From his seat at the bar, he hears his mates' voices booming through the speakers crooning a duet of some ridiculous country song about being drunk the day their mama got out of prison. He laughs to himself and shakes his head, then downs another shot. He's feeling comfortably numb by now. _Hell, one more and maybe I'll get up there with them._ He orders a rum and Coke this time instead of a shot, so he'll have something to carry around and sip when he goes to collect his mates.

Dave and Robin's song ends to hoots and hollers from the audience. Killian picks up his drink. He's about to go take the Mickey out of his mates for their questionable vocal stylings, when the next song starts up and he's immobilized by the sweet, clear voice of the new singer. _And is that - ? Is she singing Pat Benatar?_

Desperate to see this woman with the voice of a siren and a taste for 80's rock, he turns toward the stage and nearly drops his glass. She is a vision, all smooth freckled skin and green eyes. The hot spotlight shining down on the tiny stage lends her softly curling pale hair an ethereal glow.

 _I'd give my left hand to be the microphone just for a chance to touch those pink lips. Oh, that's a good line. Must remember to say that to HER._

All thoughts of merely charming the singer soon fly out of his head as he watches her perform. She belts out the lyrics to "Love is a Battlefield" with such depth of emotion that he feels it in his bones. This is a lass who has felt the pain of love and life gone wrong. His broken heart recognizes and reaches out for hers.

As her song ends, Robin has found him again, still leaning against the same bar stool where his mates had left him, and Killian is suddenly being pulled toward the side of the stage. "Come on, mate! Let's go get back on the sign-up list. Dave wants to do 'Carry On Wayward Son' and you're the only one of us that can hit the high notes on the bridge!" Robin cajoles.

Killian tries to utter a response, but as they pass the stage steps he is knocked backward sloshing his drink, and his arms are filled with something warm and soft. _Oh, God. It's her._

He stands there blinking like an idiot and watching stupefied as a radiant smile blossoms across her face. Finally shaking himself out of his daze he manages an "Ah… Sorry, lass." _Bollocks. That was fucking smooth, Killian. Idiot._

She laughs. "You missed me." At his perplexed expression, she adds, "Your drink, I mean. You didn't get any on me."

She's still smiling at him, and he can't believe it, but he realizes he's still holding onto her from where she'd crashed into him. S _hite. She'll think I'm some kind of creeper._ He releases her quickly with a bit of an awkward step back. "Oh. Well, that's good then..." Without meaning to, he glances down at her lips and his tongue darts to the corner of his mouth. He extends his hand to her. "I'm Killian."

She looks quizzically down at his hand as she takes it. "Right," she replies, looking back up at him with a tilt of her head and a furrowed brow. "Yeah, I know."

"Ah, well, I suppose my reputation precedes me." He's still holding her hand, unable or unwilling to end the subtle contact just yet. He leans in with a conspiratorial wink, "Don't believe a word of it, darling. All scandalous lies." He underscores the comment with a wicked grin. _Much better, Jones._

She laughs again, and he relishes the sound. He can't shake the sense of how familiar it felt to hold her in his arms, but then Ruby Lucas is at her elbow, pulling her away, and Robin is shoving a sign-up list into his hand. The moment, or whatever that had been, is over. He writes his name on the list with David and Robin's, and when he turns to find her again, she is lost to him in the crowd.

He turns back to Robin to see his mate giving him an irritatingly knowing smirk. "Aw, shut yer gob, Locksley," Killian mutters, and downs what's left of his drink to avoid his mate's eyes for a few more seconds.

Dave has made his way over to them, beer in one hand and Mary Margaret tucked under the other arm. The petite brunette nudges Killian's shoulder playfully. "I see you found Emma," she sing-songs at him.

"Emma! So that's her name." Killian knows he's smiling just a little too brightly right now, but he can't seem to help himself.

Mary Margaret raises an eyebrow at him in confusion for a second, then rolls her eyes dismissively with a shake of her head. Seeing as an eyeroll is Killian's standard fare from Mary Margaret, he doesn't think anything of it. He isn't thinking of much of anything besides golden hair and a golden voice.

Soon the little group is engaged in a raucous debate over the merits of _real_ football versus _American_ football - he and Robin holding the high ground _obviously_ \- but Killian's eyes scan the room every few minutes, just hoping to catch a flash of long blonde locks amongst the swarm of students.

It's getting close to being their turn to perform. Dave suggests the gang hits the bar for a couple of rounds of Jager Bombs for "liquid stage presence," as he dubs it. _Jager? Seriously?_ But then… _what the hell?_ This whole night started out as a way to drink away the pain of a stint of bad judgment, so Killian may as well be drinking bad judgment's official beverage. As the bloody awful concoction storms through his veins, his last coherent thought is: _It's a small school in a small town. I'm sure I'll run into her again sooner or later_.

-X-

When Killian awakes, he has the sickly sweet taste of licorice liqueur on his lips and a song stuck in his head. He stumbles to the kitchen, humming to himself, as he brews a pot of coffee strong enough to wake the dead, which - given his current condition - is precisely its intended purpose.

 _No, not dead,_ he chides himself. _Dead wouldn't hurt this much._ He remembers going to drink away his sorrows about Tink, which seems almost silly to him now. In the light of day, he finds he doesn't really feel all that upset about it anymore. It was abrupt, sure. Maybe a bit callous on her part, but, if he's honest with himself, not entirely unexpected. _Well, that sounds awfully mature of me._

He feels different somehow this morning. He can't put his finger on it. He wonders briefly if he reached some kind of personal epiphany at the bar last night. _As they say, in vino veritas. But, I wasn't drinking wine. I was drinking rum and then bloody Jager. Doubt I ran into any life-altering truths whilst singing fucking awful karaoke with Dave and Robin, shite-faced on Jager Bombs._

He laughs at the very thought. Still, he has a strange sense of longing in his chest. Longing for what, he isn't sure, but it's there, quietly gnawing at him. He figures he just needs more caffeine. The coffee is brewed now, and he gets himself a mug from the cabinet. As he pours a cup of thick black sludge, he sings quietly to himself the song that's been playing in his head since he woke up. _"We are young. Heartache to heartache we stand… Love is a battlefield._ "


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: This is unbeta-ed so all mistakes are mine.**

 **When we last saw him, Killian had met and forgotten Emma not once but twice. Several months have passed, and he's gotten his drinking in check. Think he'll do any better this time around? Third time's the charm, right?**

 **I'd love to hear what you think of this and what you think will/should happen next! Let me hear from you in the comments!**

* * *

"Come on, Jones, you haven't been out with us in weeks!" David pesters.

Killian sighs. His mate's right, of course. He's been trying to keep his focus on his studies this semester and to keep a tighter leash on his drinking, so his trips to the Rabbit Hole with the boys have become fewer and farther between. "Dave, I'm not really interested in dressing up in some poncy costume and getting pissed on pumpkin ale."

"It is a party that happens to occur near the end of October. It's not a Halloween Party. No costumes and I'm sure the pumpkin ale is optional. Besides -" David slaps him on the back. "You always look like a ponce."

Killian rolls his eyes, but Dave can tell he's already won. "Fine. I'll go on two conditions: One, that I'm the designated driver, and two, that we get Mary Margaret pissed on pumpkin ale."

David laughs heartily and shakes Killian's hand. "Done!"

* * *

"Oi! You even listenin', mate?" Will's voice snaps Killian back to attention.

"What? Sorry." Killian scrunches his eyes closed briefly and gives his head a small shake to clear it.

Will lowers his chin and raises an eyebrow. "You know, if you fancy the bird, Jones, why don't you go and chat her up?"

"And who says I fancy her?"

"Ah, 'course not. Just been starin' at her stems for the past ten minutes. Doesn't mean a thing." Will presses his lips together in a thin line and shakes his head slowly with a _tsk-tsk_. "What would Tink say?"

Killian pinches the bridge of his nose. "A good number of things involving my immediate castration, I'd wager."

"So, that's back on again then, is it?"

"For now." Killian shrugs. Over the course of the past few months, he and Tink had settled into a sort of tidal ebb and flow. She'd return to him, and they'd go hot and heavy for a week or two, then she'd decide she needed _space_ for a month. 'Space', Killian had learned, meant that the two of them were technically allowed to have whatever dalliances they pleased until Tink realised he was dallying nearly as much as she was, got jealous, and came storming back to repeat the cycle. Not exactly healthy, but with his course load this semester, it was all Killian really had the time or energy for.

Still… Ever since Immunity Day, he'd felt a deep longing inside himself for something _more_. It was as if some part of him was calling out into the darkness for a light he'd seen only from a distance. He was tired of running in circles with Tink. He was tired of the occasional random hookups he indulged in when he and Tink had an 'off-season'. He'd earned himself quite the reputation as a ladies' man, and sure, he could turn a lovely lass's head, but then what? None of them ever seemed too keen to stick around. He was a good time, a thrill ride, a dirty secret - that was all. Even Tink couldn't be arsed to stand by him for long.

Killian sighs heavily. _I should really quit my belly-aching. Plenty of blokes would be glad for the setup I've got._ Besides, his grades had taken a hit last semester thanks to Milah dumping him right before finals. He needed to stick with the plan. _Study. Get your grades back up. Worry about the clusterfuck you call a love life later, and for God's sake, lay off the rum._

"Right then. Seeing as how you don't fancy her, and you're otherwise occupied at least for the time being, what say you go introduce me to her? Always did love a blonde."

Killian's head whips around toward Will, surprising even himself. He knows who she is, of course. Emma Swan is in his first class of the morning, every Tuesday and Thursday. She sits a row in front of him at the opposite end of the room. They've never spoken to each other, but he's caught her checking him out once or twice. Well…maybe it would be more accurate to say that she's turned and caught _him_ looking at _her_.

 _But she wouldn't have caught me if she hadn't been looking as well._

Their eyes would meet across the lecture hall, her expression expectant - almost as though she was waiting for him to say something more than a simple generic "hello". When he didn't, she'd turn away again with an emotion strangely akin to disappointment in her eyes.

"Not sure I'm the man for the job, mate. I've never actually talked to her, and I get the distinct impression she's none too fond of me," Killian answers.

"Even better. If she thinks you're a git, it'll make me look that much more appealing by comparison." Will pats Killian's shoulder twice. "Come on then. Be my wingman."

Killian lifts an eyebrow and shrugs. "Your funeral then." He saunters toward where Emma is standing, Will close at his heels. She'd been talking to another student Killian knew only by sight, but as that conversation ends she glances their direction and notices them as they're halfway to her.

Emma crosses her arms and tilts her head, giving Killian a patronizing smirk. _What the devil is that about?_ He opens his mouth to address her, but before any words escape him, she's beat him to the punch.

"Hi, Killian," she says with an indulgent smile. "Who's your friend?" She bobs her head to indicate Will.

Killian clears his throat, taking the hand that he'd begun to extend to Emma and raising it to scratch behind an ear in a move he hopes doesn't look as ridiculous as it felt. "Ah, right," he mumbles to himself, then steps aside so that Will and Emma face each other. "Emma Swan, Will Scarlet." He gestures between the two, as they shake hands. _There now. I can be a proper wingman and a gentleman without making a complete arse of myself after all._

Will and Emma exchange pleasantries and the three soon fall into spirited conversation. _God, she's easy to talk to_. Maybe he feels a twinge of jealousy when Emma laughs at something Will said, or when her fingers casually brush his friend's arm, but he pushes it to the back of his mind. Harder to ignore, though, are the occasional sidelong glances Emma gives him, her emerald eyes lingering on his for just a second longer than necessary. Her gaze holds a secret, like an inside joke between the two of them, but he can't seem to remember the punchline. _You're seeing things, Jones. She clearly just thinks you're a prat._

David is tapping him on the shoulder, and it takes him a second to tear his eyes away from Emma before turning to his mate. "Hey man, can you go talk to Robin? He's in a bad way, and he won't listen to me."

Killian turns to see Robin sitting on the sofa, head in his hands and seemingly babbling to himself. He runs a hand down his face. "Is it the Marian versus Regina thing again?"

Dave nods and raises his hands dramatically in supplication to the heavens. "I'm so confused!" he groans in a fairly decent imitation of Robin's accent.

Killian rolls his eyes and laughs. "Alright. I'll see what I can do. Besides, I think these two-" he gestures behind him to Will and Emma, "-might prefer if I buggered off anyway." He looks back over his shoulder at Will, who tosses him a wink to indicate his agreement with that sentiment.

"Thanks," Dave replies. "I've got to go find Mary Margaret. She's in the I-love-everyone phase of tipsy. Hugging complete strangers. I'm afraid if she drinks anymore, she'll climb up on a table and start making motivational speeches about love and hope."

Killian laughs again. "Oh, I dunno, mate. Maybe we could all use a little motivation."

* * *

Over an hour later, Killian has managed to talk Robin into having a heart-to-heart with Marian when he sobers up tomorrow, and David did, in fact have to help Mary Margaret down off a table. _It was a good speech, though._ Killian thinks. _One of her better ones, for certain._

Emma is still chatting with Will, who now has his arm around her shoulders. _Not that I was checking up on them. Will's a cheeky bastard, but a good bloke. I'm happy for him._ Emma seems to sense Killian's eyes on her and meets his gaze for a few seconds, her expression unreadable. She looks away with a shrug, and the next thing Killian knows Emma and Will are leaving together.

"Killyyyyyyyyyyy!" Mary Margaret trills, running up to Killian and hugging him tightly. "Didja hear m'speech?"

He pecks a kiss to the top of her dark hair and she releases him. "I did indeed, lass. One of your finest. I am now completely sold on the virtues of hope and true love."

Her beaming expression changes instantly, and she narrows her eyes at him waggling a finger in his face. "Good. You needed to hear it more than anybody. Maybe you'll stop with all your rum and that nonsense with Tink." Killian knows she's deadly serious, but the heavy slur of her words diminishes their intended effect.

"Bit rich chiding me about my drinking when you're so thoroughly pissed, love." Killian teases goodnaturedly.

Mary Margaret harumphs at him, but soon she's smiling again. "Hey, did I just see Emma leave with Will Scarlet?"

Killian's face falls, but he quickly recovers, schooling his features into nonchalance. "You did. I introduced them myself. Do I get any points for encouraging young love?"

She responds with her best _you've-got-to-be-shitting-me_ face and shakes her head disapprovingly. "You're a dumbass." She punctuates the sentiment with a swipe at Killian's chest.

Killian raises his eyebrows at her, slightly taken aback. "And why, pray tell, am I a 'dumbass' today, milady?" he asks with exaggerated formality.

"Emma _likes_ you," Mary Margaret replies as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. "And you clearly like her, too."

The room has suddenly become uncomfortably warm, and Killian shuffles his feet. "I hardly think that's possible. We've never even spoken before tonight."

She furrows her brow, concern etching her features. "You really don't remember do you. You danced with her at Robin's house at the after-finals party. Then again at the Rabbit Hole before Immunity Day. She ran right into you after she got finished singing karaoke. Honestly, I cannot fathom her love for 80's rock, but anyway… you guys seemed to be having a moment. I think she was a little hurt that you forgot her name, but she asks me about you every time I see her…"

Mary Margaret continues to ramble, but Killian isn't listening anymore. His mind is spinning back in time.

 _"_ _If you're so dead set on dancing don't you go ask Emma over there?"_

 _"_ _Emma? Who's Emma?_

 _Shimmering green eyes smile at him, and a lithe body presses against him as they sway to the music._

 _A halo of blonde hair shining under a spotlight and an angelic voice singing about the pain of love. His arms suddenly filled with softness and warmth._

 _"_ _You missed me. Your drink I mean. You didn't get any on me."_

 _"_ _Oh. Well, that's good then… I'm Killian."_

 _"_ _Right. Yeah, I know."_

His heart races as the memories come screaming back to him. The dreams. Letting go of Milah. The longing in his heart for something real, something deeper. _It was her. It was Emma_. All the blood drains from Killian's face, and he feels as though he's about to be ill.

 _It's always been Emma. And I've just fixed her up with Will bloody Scarlet!_


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Okay, last chapter folks! I really hope you all enjoyed this one. I loved writing it!**

 **WARNING: There is a small amount of 'smut glitter' in this chapter. It is brief and not at all graphic, but you've been warned anyway.**

 **Now, on with the show: When we last saw him, Killian had finally remembered Emma - right after sending her into the arms of another man!**

* * *

Killian resumes his seat at the bar, motioning for the bartender to bring him another round. He absently runs his finger along the edge of his empty glass as he waits, and lets his thoughts drift back to _her_.

He and Emma have been friends, or something like it, for over a year now. He sees her nearly every day in his classes - she even sits next to him in one. There's hardly any elbow room in that lecture hall. His hand brushes hers every time he passes her the day's handouts from the prof, and her knee grazes his under the table at least five times per class. _Not that I'm counting or anything_. But, they're just friends.

Emma was with Will for ages, though the two seem to have split since Christmas break. No one ever really _got_ that pairing. He wonders if maybe it had been a relationship of convenience. _You know, they had the same friends, went to the same social functions, that sort of thing. Not that it's any of my business..._ Up until fairly recently he and Tink had still been doing their on-again-off-again thing. ( _Which is definitely OFF now. Completely and totally and eternally OFF._ )

He's glad that he and Emma are friends. A friend is all he needs right now. Simple. Uncomplicated. Well, mostly uncomplicated. There was that one night a few weeks ago when they'd bumped into each other at the Rabbit Hole - the night when drinking and laughing at the bar had turned into something unexpected. That was the first time Emma Swan gave him a ride home. Somewhere between the front door of the bar and the passenger door of her Beetle, a switch had flipped, and he'd suddenly found himself pinned against the rusted yellow metal, her lips hot and urgent against his. They'd somehow managed to get themselves into the car and back to his apartment, and spent the rest of the night wrapped up in each other. Kissing, touching, _talking_. He'd learned so much about her that night, everything from her dreams of helping kids in the foster system to the sounds that she made when he moved his fingers just _so_.

And then nothing. The next day he'd seen her in class as always, and it was as if the night before had never happened. There was no awkwardness, no evidence of regret - she was exactly as friendly to him as she had ever been. Almost as if she didn't remember it. As if they hadn't made each others' bodies sing with pleasure and shared secrets that almost no one else knew. So, Killian played along. No reason to complicate things. He was glad they could still be friends.

Except that it happened again a week later. Dave and Robin had taken him out for his birthday to bloody karaoke night again, and every time he finished a drink a new one appeared in his hand as if by magic. Oh, but he was the life of the party that night. Laughing, singing, tossing his best innuendo at any lass that looked his way. _S'what I'm good at, after all - catching women. Catching a lass is easy. Keeping 'em's the trouble…_

Emma had been there, laughing and rolling her eyes at his antics. _I like her laugh. She ought to do it more often._ So with a wicked grin to Emma, he'd laid it on particularly thick with a tall brunette, but soon realized his mistake when the woman took one of his suggestive comments a bit literally and climbed into his lap. When he was sure the lass was about to devour him right then and there on his barstool, Emma had taken pity on his panicked expression and swooped in pretending to be his jealous girlfriend, shooing the other woman away.

"My savior," he whispered to her with a mischievous wink, and she'd laughed for him again.

She took his hand in hers - only to maintain the girlfriend illusion, mind you, in case anyone was still watching - and began pulling him toward the parking lot. "Come on, Romeo. I'll give you a ride home. Even the birthday boy needs his beauty sleep."

Killian had grumbled something about being devilishly handsome anyway, but allowed her to lead him to her car. He was surprised when she'd parked at his building, rather than dropping him off at the front door. More surprised when she walked into his apartment with him. When she was in his arms again, her lips warm and welcoming, he didn't give a damn about anything else.

They'd spent the night tangled up together. He'd memorized her every curve and dip, the constellations of her freckles, they way her delicate hands clutched at the bedsheets as his tongue worked between her thighs. They never crossed that final line, but he didn't care. Her smiling emerald eyes, sparkling even in his dark bedroom, were the last thing he saw before sleep claimed him.

When he'd awoken the next morning she was gone. If not for the lingering sweet cinnamon scent on his pillow, he'd almost have believed it had all been a rum-soaked dream. A vivid, sensual, _perfect_ fucking dream.

He saw her in class later that morning, and once again she greeted him in her usual friendly manner as if nothing had changed. It was a relief, but it was maddening. Again, he played along. He didn't think about their bodies entwined. He certainly didn't think about what it would be like to have Emma Swan as his actual girlfriend, since she'd played the part so convincingly the night before. _Oh, bugger._

He doesn't need a relationship, doesn't want one. To be honest, he's rubbish at relationships - every single one he's had has ended in disaster. _Because I can catch women, but I can't keep them. They like my handsome face, find me charming, want to fuck me, but that's all. There's nothing else about me to make them stay._

And today… today he found out that Milah is getting a divorce, that she left her husband for some other bloke. He's over Milah, has been for a long time now, but it twists a knife in his gut anyway because it's just one more example to prove that he, Killian, wasn't enough.

So tonight he sits in a bar called The Crow's Nest (he can't bring himself to go back to The Rabbit Hole after his last night with Emma), taking down glass after glass of liquid bravado. He's here to do what he does best: find a willing lass, take her home, and be the scandalous tale that she whispers blushingly to her friends over brunch. _All I'm good for._

Part one of his plan is easy enough. The bar is lively this evening and there's no shortage of fair ladies out for a good time. Still, each time he can see a "yes" in the flutter of an inky pair of lashes or the curl of red lips, he hesitates. He backs down. He excuses himself as politely as possible and heads back to the bar for another dose.

He kind of hates this place actually, its "Rat Pack" theme seeming a bit pretentious for a college bar. As he sips his drink, he can barely hear Frank Sinatra crooning over the noisy crowd:

 **"** **It's the wrong time and the wrong place,**

 **Though your face is lovely, it's the wrong face.**

 **It's not her face, but such a lovely face,**

 **That it's alright with me."**

 _Well that's just bollocks, innit?_ he thinks. _It's not alright. Not a bit alright._

Maybe this is the wrong time, and it's definitely the wrong place, but there is only one face he wants to see. No other face will do. Not anymore. It doesn't matter though. He's only good at catching women, not keeping them, and Emma Swan is the kind of woman you keep. Emma must see him as all the others do. Just a good time. Nothing to be taken seriously. What else could it have meant that morning she disappeared without waking him?

 _What else could it have meant?_ The thought floats and tumbles around his hazy mind like the ice cubes in his rum glass. Since they've known each other, she's seen him completely forget her - not once but twice. She's seen him hot and heavy with Tink one week, then flirting and carousing with every woman in sight the next. He knows she's had pain in her past. She told him as much during one of their nights together, though she didn't go into the details. Could it be possible that she's just as scared of being cast aside again as he is - only allowing herself their few stolen moments in the dark?

In that moment, he _hopes._ It's a frail, brittle thing, but hope nonetheless. He sets down his glass and pulls out his phone, dialing her number before he can stop himself. He prays as much that she doesn't answer as that she does, but after four rings which seem to last an eternity, her voice crackles on the line, thick and groggy with sleep.

"Killian? What the hell?"

"Emma? Love, don't hang up. I know it's the middle of the buggering night, but..." He sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face. "Would you please come fetch me? I find myself in no condition to drive and without a ride home."

He hears the huff of her breath and can't tell if the sound indicates laughter at him, annoyance or both. "Where are you?"

"The Crow's Nest," he replies, silently cursing himself. _This was a bloody stupid idea. Great way to get a woman to fancy you. Drunk dial her asking for ride home at 2:00 a.m._

He hears her hum and holds his breath. Finally she replies, "Okay. It'll be a few minutes though. I need to throw some clothes back on that aren't pajamas. Meet me at the front door."

She ends the call before he can babble his dumbfounded thanks.

They don't talk as she drives him back to his apartment, Killian's usual gift for witty banter utterly failing him. When she pulls into a parking space at his building and cuts the engine, he takes hold of her hand, stilling her from pulling the key from the ignition.

"Swan, you don't have to-" He furrows his brow. "This wasn't some sort of booty call."

She meets his eyes, her expression surprisingly open. "I know," she replies simply. "Killian, if you'd wanted booty, there was enough in that bar to keep a pirate happy for years. Let's go inside. I'm exhausted." One corner of her mouth curls into a half-smile and she bobs her head in the direction of his building. "Come on."

He releases her hand and they exit her ridiculous yellow Volkswagen. The vehicle has brought Emma to his home three times now and he's beginning to develop quite a fondness for it. They enter the apartment together, and the door clicks shut behind them. She turns toward him, stopping him with one gentle hand placed on his chest, keeping him at arm's length. Her eyes search his face, studying him, considering.

Finally she asks, "Why did you call me tonight?"

Killian tilts his head, bemused. "What do you mean?"

"You didn't call David. You didn't call Robin or even Tink. You called me. Why?" She moves ever so slightly closer, and Killian's mouth goes dry.

"I needed you." His confession surprises him, and he swallows hard. "I needed a friend."

"Is that what we are?" She's even closer now, her voice barely above a whisper. She raises a hand and brushes the fringe of hair off his forehead letting her fingers trail down the side of his face and jawline before lowering it to her side again.

Against his will, his eyes dart to her lips and he sees the beginnings of a smile forming there. He clears his throat and meets her eyes again. "It doesn't have to be all we are."

She pulls back slightly, raising an eyebrow. Wariness creeps into her expression. "Friends with benefits?"

He wraps his fingers around her hand where it's still pressed to his chest and moves it so their hands rest over his heart, hoping that if she feels its racing beat she'll believe him to be sincere. "No, Swan, I don't want that. It wouldn't be enough. I want all of you. I want to take you out to dinner and talk about your day. I want watch shite TV shows with you on the couch. I want to hold your hand in front of our friends in the student lounge. I just want to be _with_ you."

She doesn't answer, only studying his face for a few more seconds. Then her arms are wrapped tightly around his waist, her face is nestled against his chest, and he finds that this is answer enough for tonight. His arms envelop her and he kisses the crown of her head, murmuring "Let's go to bed, love," against her hair.

There is no passionate consummation that night, only blissful slumber with his Emma tucked against his side. _His Emma_. He likes the sound of that. He likes it even more that she's still wrapped around him when they awake the next morning. That she holds his hand under the desk in class that day. That she kisses his cheek right in front of Dave and Robin before walking off to her next class, leaving his mates agape, and him grinning like an idiot.

 _His Emma_. He enjoys toying with the idea that she could be his now. God knows, he's been hers since before he can even remember.

* * *

 **So what did you think? Your comments give me life! Tell me all about it!**

 **[Special thanks to unspoken-and-wild for helping me work this chapter out! Tiffany, you are the best cheerleader ever!]**


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